


Aftershock

by NeighborhoodCatGang



Series: We Love a Recovery [2]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I am in fact hopeless, I thought I was done but I'm not, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeighborhoodCatGang/pseuds/NeighborhoodCatGang
Summary: Lit is not dealing very well with the emotional fallout of suddenly regaining buried memories of how horrible he used to be. But he has a doting and very handsome boyfriend to badger him into basic self care.
Relationships: Lityerses/Zephyros
Series: We Love a Recovery [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872733
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	Aftershock

In the weeks following his collapse Lit frequently found himself overcome by particular emotions. Grief and guilt were common, as were remorse, contempt, and fury. Fear occasionally took him, though he had suffered panic attacks before and couldn’t be sure if they were caused by his current trauma or something else within him. They often came without warning, preceded only by unbidden flashes of memory. For the first few days he had been completely incapacitated by the episodes. Slowly, he had learned to let the feelings wash over him as he continued with his work. The hardest to manage was not, as he would have guessed, the bouts of rage or fury. Those he could clench his jaw and flex his arms and muscle through by force of will. The really crippling one was remorse, with grief a close second. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to feel these things. He was just supremely ill-equipped to handle either with any kind of grace. Lit was still in the habit of working alone most of the time. On the one hand that meant nobody else had to put up with his moods. On the other hand, he often had very little help getting through them. Will Solace, visiting healer and expert on surly asshole management, had warned him to be wary of self-isolation, but Lit tended to feel that not inflicting his own punishments on anyone else was a good thing.

That line of reasoning backfired on him spectacularly when, in the middle of training, a wave of grief sent his sword clattering from numb fingers and buckled his knees beneath him. On all fours on the floor of the practice range, Lit struggled to breathe against the sucking hollow threatening to collapse his ribcage. He squeezed his eyes shut against the flood of tears and felt his lips peel back from his teeth as he fought down a sob. Jaw clenched with tooth-cracking force, he managed to stay silent. He was still there, crying quietly on the ground when Zephyros found him. His boyfriend didn’t question. He just picked Lit up and carried him to their room.

“Which is it?” He asked when safely closeted away. In response Lit pressed a hand to the place where he felt his chest would collapse. Zephyros nodded. They both knew there was nothing to be done but wait for it to pass. Still, Lit found that even just his boyfriend’s presence was soothing. Zephyros rubbed his back in long, calming strokes. His hands were always so warm. He began to sing quietly in a language too old for Lit to understand. Slowly Lit’s breathing fell into time with the song and the gentle motion of Zephyros’s hand. His eyes still streamed, but his jaw began to unclench and his shoulders relaxed enough for him to bow his head. His boyfriend swept a wing around him and produced a handkerchief from his pocket, still singing softly. His voice in Lit’s mind became the soft swish of grass in a field, the warmth of his body a banked campfire. He dabbed gently at Lit’s face and neck, cleaning away the tears that had spidered out through his network of scars. Lit remembered. Before dying he had never felt his home was in his father’s palace, where Midas’s moods and tempers had controlled his every move. He had always felt he belonged out in the fields, where the sky stretched more broadly and other people were few and far between. Countless nights he had spent alone, staring into a fire or up at the stars. His first home. Zephyros’s song eased to a close, the final notes lingering between them as Lit exhaled the last of his misery. He leaned his head on the god’s shoulder.

“Why is this still so hard?” he sighed.

“Be patient with yourself. You are still learning. Some people go their entire lives never knowing how to deal with grief.” He offered the handkerchief. Lit scrubbed at his face.

“How am I supposed to deal with this? What am I supposed to do?”

“Let yourself hurt. Forgive yourself for it. Lean on me in the meantime.” He kissed the top of Lit’s head.

“Who did you lean on?”

“Eros. He bound me, but the bonds held me up when I was too weak to do it myself. I’m still strangely grateful for it.” Lit considered that, then nodded. He felt empty, hollowed out like a shell of a man. This usually happened after an episode. He was thankful for Zephyros’s warmth, his soothing hands and gentle voice. A spark flared in the hollow left by the cataclysm. Lit had felt it plenty in the past few weeks, but seldom given it a name, and never spoken of it. Now, in the numb void that followed the overwhelming crush of grief, he felt it more clearly than ever. It was so obvious. He had to name it.

“Zephyros,” he murmured, “I love you.”

“I love you, too Lityerses.”

Lit was completely spent. His mind was a dull fuzz, his body exhausted and heavy, All he wanted to do was lean on Zephyros’s shoulder and repeat those words until they captured the enormity of the truth. He let his boyfriend help him up and to the bathrooms, where he shepherded Lit into a shower stall and threatened to wash him as well if he didn’t do it himself. The towel he handed Lit afterwards was fluffy and warm, as were the pajama pants he had fetched. Upon returning to his room, Lit also found a hot plate of food on his desk, despite the late hour. The spark in his chest crackled and popped merrily at the sight. Maybe this was love, too - caring for someone enough to let them care for you.

“Better?” Zephyros asked when he was done.

“Better.” Lit tilted his head back and sleepily accepted a kiss from the god.

“You should sleep now.” But Lit stayed stubbornly at his desk until Zephyros returned from taking the plate away. Going to bed alone was okay if he had to do it, but given the chance Lit would absolutely wait until he could have his boyfriend beside him. Zephyros didn’t really need sleep, but he was usually there with Lit when he drifted off and when he re-awoke. He smiled upon returning to find Lit with his chin propped in his hand, eyes closed, nearly asleep in his chair.

“Come on, before you get a crick in your neck.”

“Are you finally ready?”

“You’re the one who needed to bathe and eat.”

“I was content to go to bed without either.”

“And you would have suffered for it.” Zephyros’s red shirt and khaki shorts dissolved into a loose tank top and slouchy pajama pants that hugged his thighs beautifully. It wasn’t fair, Lit thought, that he would look so delicious when Lit was so tired. He climbed into bed and waited patiently while Zepyros got his wings situated. Then he wrapped an arm around the god’s waist and wiggled as close as he could, ignoring his pillow in favor of his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“I love you.” He mumbled again, already drifting.

“I love you, too Lit. Now sleep.” Lit didn’t need telling twice.


End file.
